


Killing Words

by bizzylizzy



Series: Wind Over Tide Universe [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Asexual Character, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5533754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzylizzy/pseuds/bizzylizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which getting what you want is more difficult than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Words

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for sexy, this isn't it. Writer's block was beaten with porn, not sure how I feel about that or how long this will stay up.
> 
> Merry Christmas, Happy Porn.
> 
> Chronologically, this would take place months after the third chapter of Polarity.

A casual observer, if this relationship were not carried out under the utmost of covertness, would think that Shisui’s words, always quick and witty, were the most deadly in the relationship. They would find him cutting and rude, ruthless and vulgar to Itachi’s softer lips and gentler sentiments. They would pity the large eyed, morosely silent Itachi, his kitten face and dark hair giving the effeminate illusion of delicate constraint.

In reality, Itachi’s words were the ones that so often brought Shisui to a standstill. It was because, in this relationship, Shisui was the rabid taker. He was the needy and possessed, constantly seeking something when Itachi so placidly accepted what he was given. If Itachi were not dying, if his months were not now numbered instead of his years, Shisui didn’t think the relationship would last (he gets an odd thrill thinking of himself and Itachi in a relationship). But knowing that Itachi was not long for this life, and could pass on at any given juncture, Shisui swallowed the bile of being the taker and clung.

Because he was becoming terrified of the thought that Itachi’s death was coming, and it was going to take everything that had come to matter to Shisui away.

Shisui didn’t know if the growing _gentleness_ he received from Itachi was a development of being involved with someone for more than a few weeks, or some change worked on Itachi by the illness. Shisui wasn’t sure how to ask if Itachi would be so kind if he weren’t rotting on the inside, so he took this, as he took everything. It would seem a sin worth of damnation to reject the gifts offered from a dying man--or death itself, or whatever allowed Shisui to settle his body against Itachi’s at night, or made Itachi suffer through another kiss he would really rather do without.

But sometimes, it was really more than Shisui could practically stand. He’d be pious and abstaining, but he wasn’t that kind of person. He was corrupt and morally as rotten as Itachi was rotten, so when Itachi’s breathing on the back of his neck, and his body of hard steel and wire of curled tightly against Shisui’s back, there weren’t many reactions to have-- _especially_ when Itachi’s lips were moist and gently parted the tip of his nose just a bit cold when it bumped into Shisui’s neck…

Shisui groaned and curled away from Itachi, who, smothered in the deep winter sleeps he had now, just shifted to follow. He slept heavy as a drunkard, but Shisui could pull away easily. He could also sneak a kiss or two to speed him along, but that always felt dishonest and seven kinds of disgusting.

Itachi shifted, hand sliding over Shisui’s side. Shisui’s entire body tensed, and he felt Itachi’s breathing change, altering to the supposed alarm in Shisui’s stance. What had Itachi’s famous words been? You can stay next time? And Shisui hadn’t even had the nerve to _stay_ in Itachi’s presence while jerking himself off to, most often, the thought of Itachi, but why not start now? Itachi was asleep and couldn’t judge or mock with his heavy eyes, so there wasn’t a reason to hesitate.

Except that Itachi could wake up, and that would be about as much as Shisui could stand. 

Too late, because Itachi had just moved, not shifted, hand moving to measure Shisui’s pulse. 

“What’s wrong?” Itachi asked, not truly alarmed as, if there were true danger, Shisui would be up and out of bed by now.

“Oh, you know, just contemplating how much of a creeper it would make me if I jerked off beside you while you were asleep,” Shisui replied. “Normal delinquency.”

Itachi snorted, warm on Shisui’s neck. “You haven’t done that before?”

“I have some sense of decency,” Shisui hissed back as Itachi’s lips were on the back on his neck with every word, yanking his body tighter and sending just about every ounce of blood in Shisui’s body _down._

“Mmm, I didn’t think so.” Itachi’s words were sleepy and rough, not gravel like Kisame’s, but rougher than the clear tenor the teenager had begun with. Not even the thought of Kisame really helped in the situation. Shisui could dress up the feeling, but the overwhelming desire to shove his dick in something as pressing down on his spine, lighting up his nerves and crushing his rational thinking. He just _wanted_ , and he had never felt more ashamed of _wanting_ then when he was with Itachi. That feeling never got better, but he learned to live with it. Probably just like Itachi learned to live with his body’s betrayal of him.

And suddenly, Itachi's hand was not at his throat. It was down, trailing-- _travelling_ , and Shisui almost rolled over on top of Itachi. He yanked up, out from under the bundle of covers, thrashing out into the colder air as Itachi fisted a hand in Shisui’s shirt with a practically lazy determination.

“Shisui,” Itachi started, and his voice--gods _damn_ him, his _voice_ caught on all the swelling and phlegm in his throat and while Shisui _knew_ that rasp was a symptom of _death_ it didn’t keep him from jerking, his body from desiring the almost corpse clinging to him.

“I’m going,” Shisui managed, his own voice ragged for another reason. And he wished to anything that would listen he could _once_ hear that tone in Itachi’s voice before the end.

Itachi breathed deeply, a sigh and a death rattle entwined as he used his hold on Shisui’s shirt to pull himself up. The weight of Itachi’s chest settled against Shisui’s back. The bed creaked. Legs appeared--well, more like knees beside Shisui’s thighs. “Stay.”

And _how_ \-- someone needed to explain to Shisui how you deny a dying man, whose bones you can feel pressing into your back. Shisui could hardly breathe in this moment, in this _space_ where Itachi was too close and too everything imaginable. Shisui really had been born under a cursed star. Every point where Itachi’s skin touched him was unbearably electric.

Shisui grabbed Itachi’s hands because they were moving and Shisui didn’t know a better way to stop them. They twined with his in the normal way (why is there a _normal_ way for their hands to meet?), and Itachi’s breath rushed hot over his neck. Shisui looked at the pale threads of Itachi’s fingers through his, the dark bunching of his clothes, the telling wrinkles and heaviness enough to drown him sitting in his gut.

“You are not awake,” Shisui said--pleaded.

“Shisui, I’m awake.” There wasn’t any force behind the words. Itachi’s thumb stroked Shisui’s, callouses catching. “I told you that you didn’t have to _hide_ \--”

“There’s a big difference between not _hiding_ and you…” Shisui hissed through his teeth. This conversation would be easier in five minutes. Five minutes where Itachi wasn’t touching him.

“I thought there was an open invitation, but I apologize. I should have asked,” Itachi’s words were coming better now. He was awake, damn him. Awake and cognizant, and his hands were still dangerously low, even trapped in Shisui’s hands. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. Some kind of trick or trap or _test_.

“ _Asked?_ If you could put your hands down my pants?”

“Yes, unless you’d rather take them off,” Itachi replied, and Shisui didn’t know if he were going to scream or end the entire debate on how to get rid of his pesky erection right there.

“What, in Susanoo’s bloody seas, is--”

“It’s just my hands.” And the hands spread in Shisui’s grip, as if he needed to see them to remember them. As if these weren’t hands he had not kissed, touched, teased, treated, and bitten more times than any mortal mind could count? As if he didn’t know the look and capabilities of these hands just as well as his own?

“Guilt is an awful bed fellow,” Shisui managed. He wanted to kick something--no, he wanted to grind down on something. Itachi scoffed at him, and his lips were briefly on the juncture of Shisui’s neck and shoulder. Shisui gave up with a groan and slid down enough to look back at Itachi’s face.

Itachi’s look was one normally given to Shisui to tell him he was ridiculous beyond measure. “I’m not offering out of guilt.”

“Do you think it’s just something you should try before you die?” Shisui asked. Itachi rolled his eyes so hard Shisui was impressed he didn’t fall off the bed.

“Don’t put me in my grave because I asked to touch your penis, Shisui. It can’t be that different from giving you a back rub,” Itachi replied. Shisui wanted to die. Just die right there.

“Fuck you,” Shisui replied in a biting tone as Itachi scoffed at him again. Shisui rolled awkwardly forward, Itachi’s hands sliding from his. Shisui grabbed his pack, cursing himself heavily as he drew out a scroll and unsealed a tube he tossed back at Itachi.

“If you hate me in the morning, just remember this was not _my_ idea,” Shisui replied viciously, warring with the guilt and euphoria and sick excitement because, wow, Itachi was offering to touch him--to jerk him off or something and now looked at Shisui with a mild amusement.

Itachi kissed him on the forehead, and Shisui couldn’t breathe. “You may have to tell me what to do,” Itachi admitted into Shisui’s skin. Shisui laughed, a painful burst of noise that threatened to turn into deranged giggles.

“Well first-- _first_ , you’re going to put that on your fingers so you don’t rub me raw,” Shisui demanded, rising up and viciously yanked his pants off. What the hell. What fresh, watery hell had he just agreed to? What _madness_ had polluted his mind? Shisui pushed himself back up. he’d never felt quite this naked before or obscene, because Itachi’s chin was hooked over his shoulder. The light wasn't good, but Itachi could see enough, and Shisui had made it loudly and obviously clear hundreds of times what _exactly_ got him aroused--namely the man behind him. This was an _awful_ idea, and just as Shisui was about to voice this, Itachi seemed to overcome his indecision and touched Shisui’s thigh--tracing up the line of Shisui’s femoral artery before cutting across his vulnerable gut.

Shisui laughed, because that was Itachi approaching on familiar ground of where to _kill_ his hands swept in, and up. Four fingers along the underside of Shisui’s shaft as his body jerked and caved in on himself. Shisui hissed, hands clenching in the fabric of Itachi’s pants. Shisui didn’t even know if the sensation was pleasurable or just maddening. Itachi paused only for a moment, then his thumb made contact with the top--just points of pressure, nothing _solid_ as Itachi’s fingers moved as if exploring something dangerous.

Shisui rolled his head back, because _watching_ this dance of Itachi slender, slow fingers made him feel like he was going to come apart--not all in good ways either. Itachi’s fingers did not feel anything like imagined. Shisui had always imagined them confident and sure of Shisui’s shape and habits. In reality, Itachi’s hand moved in patently Itachi way: careful that seemed hesitant, meticulous that seemed slow, gentleness that seemed like waiting for an opening. 

A just--still _just_ five _blistering_ points of pressure along Shisui’s length. Teasing his spine into electric activity, scrambling all nerve signals until it seemed like this--just those five points of pressure, might be some kind of perfection instead of just inexperience.

“You’re supposed to use _all_ of your hand,” Shisui grated out. “Or _both_ hands.” As he said this, Itachi swept his thumb over the head of Shisui’s erection again, eliciting a hissing gasp and an entire body convulsion. Shisui twisted his fingers tighter in Itachi’s pants.

“I thought I was supposed to tease you,” Itachi replied, but he obliged by touching his palm to Shisui’s flesh. It wasn’t as slick as Itachi’s fingers, offering more resistance--a better sense of the rough flesh beneath. It was obvious, Shisui thought (trying to be clinical to keep from losing his mind), that Itachi had never done this before. That he didn’t know the best use of hands and pressure and _friction._

And it didn’t even matter to Shisui, because he knew the hand now curled around his dick, and he knew the thudding of the heart behind him, the brush of hair over his face as he leaned his head back. There was no _danger_ as lips met his neck, and he realized the angle of Itachi’s head would allow him to _watch_ , and that Itachi would watch intently to make sure he was doing it _right_. Did Shisui’s dick look weird? Was it repulsive? He couldn’t hope for attractive with Itachi, but could he achieve weirdly adorable? At least not gag inducing?

“ _Fuck_ it.” Shisui growled as Itachi’s hand seemed to drift lazily up his shaft, no sense of urgency. Shisui pressed back into Itachi, trying not to thrust, not to _alarm_ Itachi with any unneeded vulgarity. 

But, across Itachi’s face, was the smallest of smiles.

“Are you _enjoying_ yourself,” Shisui hissed. He wasn’t, he didn’t think. But he was, because he had never been quite so undone by one hand.

“Mmm, the power play is interesting,” Itachi replied, and as Shisui opened his mouth, Itachi’s hand closed more, moved faster, and it was almost _painful_. Shisui didn’t shout, but he groaned loudly, rocking back into Itachi, breathing in sharply. He wished his hands were tied, because he didn’t know what to _do_ here. He was never _passive_ , always in control in these situations giving as good as he got, but that wasn’t the option here.

Instead Shisui kicked the wall--the hotel room was small anyway, which caused Itachi to jump, yanking his hand quickly _up_ Shisui’s length of another groan inducing borderline painful move.

“Second tip--there’s never such a thing as too much lube,” Shisui managed. He braced himself with his heel, considering kicking the wall again in the sudden absence of Itachi’s hand, until Itachi left hand--not the right like before--closed more firmly around Shisui’s shaft right at the base. Itachi right hand settled beside Shisui’s hip--the threat of two hands almost more than Shisui could take.

Shisui wanted to grab something. He wanted to turn around and kiss Itachi, or pull on his hair, or _something_. Anything to give him something to concentrate on besides the slide of Itachi’s hands, the building tension in his gut, the fact that Itachi wasn’t good at this, that Shisui had had far better hand jobs, but the mere fact that it was _Itachi_ had him mewling like a virgin on a wedding night.

Itachi brought both hands up, right hand around the base, left sliding up in the same systematic _slow_ way as he ran the pad of his thumb up to the head of Shisui’s penis and over the top. Itachi’s breathe was in his ear, and his lashes brushed Shisui’s cheek with each blink. It was all and suddenly _too much_ , and Shisui doubled over with a guttural noise, snatching his hands in front of him, curling them impotently in front of him at the last moment--shaking and so close but afraid to move. This was awful. This was horrible. This was everything he had told himself he wanted.

Itachi kissed the back of Shisui’s neck. “Do you want to do it yourself?” Itachi asked, the softest tone, right in Shisui’s ear. So close. So _very_ close. Shisui shook his head, breathing through his nose.

“Don’t stop,” Shisui managed, then in a begging tone. “Don’t stop--for the love of tides, go _faster_.” And then Itachi gave Shisui a stroke so slow it could be murder, curling his body around Shisui’s. Shisui reached back and held onto Itachi’s thigh with one hand, and with the other reach mindlessly back until his hand tangled in Itachi hair. He didn’t know _why_ until he felt Itachi turn his head and kiss his wrist, as his hands moved a fraction faster, still too slow and too loose and never quite hitting the right places as Shisui whimpered and gasped and pushed back against the wall as his only solid point. The rest of him was some mutable mess--something falling apart over an awful handjob and lips on his wrist and then teeth on his finger as he jerked and stuck his hand in Itachi’s mouth by accident.

It was over with a hoarse noise, Shisui folded almost double, Itachi laying on his back, hands around Shisui’s dick as it went limp, retreating shamefully to a more docile form. Shisui’s body trembled, and Itachi’s heart beat had barely picked up.

Itachi pulled back, sliding off the bed. Shisui lay back, curling himself into a ball and closing his eyes, trying to get his breathing back and wondering why the hell he thought this was a good idea--then he saw Itachi’s hands in his mind’s eye, and the darkness of his eyes and knew why. Shisui heard the water come on in the bathroom, and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. He found Itachi waiting for the tap water to warm, his delicate hands too fragile for the cold. Itachi looked at Shisui.

“Was it awful?” Itachi asked.

“I haven’t gotten a worse handjob since I was a teenager with no standards,” Shisui replied, voice unsteady and knees uncertain as he sat down on the toilet, grabbing a washcloth. He formed signs and wet the washcloth, heating the water just a little before he reached out and took Itachi’s hands.

“I’m glad you bent you standard to accommodate me,” Itachi shot back dryly. Shisui swept the hot cloth over Itachi’s soiled hands, removing the traces of lube and cum there with gentle strokes, just as gentle and methodical as Itachi’s strokes had been earlier. The mess came away easily, the filth removed with gentle pressure and a little diligence. Shisui kissed the soft center of Itachi’s palm, which came around to cup Shisui’s face, while Itachi’s other hand ran back through Shisui’s curls.

“I’ll try to make a better job of it next time,” Itachi promised. Shisui was not fully in control of his expression as he looked up at Itachi, and whatever it was made Itachi burst into honest laughter--more like some kind of deranged crow cackle than anything. Shisui attempted to slap Itachi with the wet cloth. Itachi dodged back around the door, laughing as he slid down the wall out of reach.

“You know, I would feel grateful if you weren’t so _smug_ ,” Shisui groused, scrubbing himself vigorously

“I love you too, Shisui.” And it was such a bright confession, tinged with laughter and something close enough to delight it hurt Shisui’s heart. 

Itachi was the brutal one in this relationship. The one so prone to cutting Shisui’s metaphorical gut open, and stabbing his most vulnerable points. Because there was nothing in the world so vicious and deadly as honesty, and no one as honest with Shisui as Itachi.

But, for Itachi, that was the very essence of love and thus, now, it was for Shisui too.


End file.
